


Meet Me in California

by ShortAngryTwinks



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - High School, Banter, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Dick measuring contest, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Bantering, Eddie Kaspbrak Has a Big Dick, Face-Fucking, Fix-It, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-IT (2017), Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortAngryTwinks/pseuds/ShortAngryTwinks
Summary: In which a dick measuring contest gone terribly wrong--or right, depending on your perspective--results in the union of Derry's two resident doofuses. Formerly trapped in a homophobic town in the early 1990's, they hatch a plan--after they graduate, they'll meet in California.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 139
Collections: WIP Big Bang 2020





	Meet Me in California

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Reeby for the awesome banners! There is also a moodboard, which you can find [here](https://reeby10.livejournal.com/142003.html) .
> 
> This work was finished for the WIP Big Bang, so a huge thank you to the mods as well for setting me up with a stellar artist and for all their hard work!

In senior year of high school Eddie convinces Richie to join the track team with him. He’s been on since freshman year, and Derry’s such a small town that there’s no varsity or junior division, though Eddie adamantly insists he’d be varsity if there were.

They’re at lunch together on a Saturday when Eddie finally wears him down. It’s the same shitty little diner they always eat at, and Eddie is inciting the same shitty little argument he has been for the past couple of weeks now.

“You should join the team. It’s your last year to try team sports before you fail to get into any colleges.”

“First off, you wound me, spaghetti, you know I’m a straight A student, a regular teachers pet. I will have my _pick_ of colleges. Secondly:--“ he ticks off the second point with his hand--“why the fuck would I want to join a sports team? I don’t need a circle jerk, your mom wears me out enough every night.”

“Fuck you, the team is too busy gang banging your sister to jerk each other off.” He pauses a second. “Seriously though, you should join, you’re tall enough now that you could probably do okay without having to try that much, and you should exercise more.”

“Is killing a clown not enough of an athletic achievement for one lifetime?”

“Typically not. They aren’t exactly known for their tenacity.” Eddie sighs, continuing his actual argument. “It’s not like you have anything better to do, everyone else in the losers club has after school shit other than you. What do you even do with yourself?”

“I’ll give you one guess.” Richie says, holding his hand up before making an obscene gesture between the two of them.

“Jesus.” Eddie says, pushing his hands down and glancing around the diner like a hunted man. Unsurprisingly, no one gives a fuck. “Put that shit away.” He huffs. “Seriously Trashmouth, you’re a fucking adult, you’ve been eighteen for months now, don’t you think the jack off jokes are getting a little stale?”

“Sorry, give me a second, I think I’m being possessed by your mom.” Richie says, throwing his hands out and faking a full body jolt before making the same gesture into his mouth in time with his tongue poking against his cheek.

Eddie grabs his wrist and stills him with his tongue fully pressed against his cheek, and Richie halts both motions before feigning a full body shudder and exclaiming “yup, that was definitely your mom.”

Eddie gives him a firm but not necessarily hard slap to the cheek.

“Ow.” Richie says.

Eddie points at him accusingly.

“Shut up, you fucking baby. Just join the goddamn track team and spend some quality time with me and a bunch of other sweaty guys in short shorts like a fucking man.”

Richie scoffs, but by the time track season rolls around he’s on the same team as Eddie.  
\------

The first track practice of the season does not go well for Richie. By the end of the meet, he feels like the one with asthma, and Eddie’s has suspiciously disappeared. 

“I thought you had asthma?” Richie says, through wheezes. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Gazebos, remember?”

“Sure.” Richie mutters, too tired to think of an adequate response to convey how bullshit this feels to him.

Eddie starts gathering his stuff, but he’s not headed for the locker rooms. Richie follows. 

“What are you doing? I thought you of all people would want to take a shower after getting that sweaty.”

“Of course I’m going to shower,” Eddie says, “I’m just not gonna shower in that fucking cesspool the school calls a locker room. Do you know how fucking easy it is to get foot fungus from communal showers?”

Richie rolls his eyes. “That’s why you wear flip flops in public showers, genius.” 

Eddie pauses in his stride, then shrugs, picking back up again. 

“Whatever, I’m not about to get naked with a bunch of other dudes, half of whom either used to bully me or resent the fact that I’m faster than them even though they’re taller than me. That’s just asking for fucking trouble.”

“Point.” Richie mumbles, grabbing his stuff too, and following Eddie to his car. It’s not like he can do much about it anyways, Eddie is his ride. It had been a surprise when he found out that Eddie’s mom let him get a car, but apparently all he’d had to do was mention the fact that it was either him driving or him being driven by one of his friends. The minute he dropped Richie’s name his mom agreed it would be best if Eddie got a car. 

Which, Richie can’t even bring himself to be insulted, it’s too fucking hilarious that Eddie’s mom hates him enough to let Eddie drive a car--the leading cause of death in the US. He was also surprised at Eddie’s willingness to drive a car, that is, until he remembered that Eddie is a fucking control freak, so it makes sense that he’s the only person he’d trust with his safety in a car--aside from his mommy, that is.

Richie snorts a laugh to himself as he ducks into the car, but when Eddie gives him a weird look he just waves it away.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Make sure you’re only sitting on the towel. If I see your fucking butt sweat on my seat I will murder you, and I will throw your unwashed body in a pit where it fucking belongs.”  
\------

November comes and goes, and Eddie turns eighteen and takes the gold in their regional championships all in one stride. 

“How the fuck do you run so fast on such tiny little legs?” Richie asks, bent over and panting, trying not to think of the image of the play of Eddie’s thick ass thigh muscles as he bent over to stretch before Richie had gotten the chance to remove his fucking glasses.

“I haven’t stopped running since I was thirteen years old Richie.”

His tone is a little too serious, and Richie flounders for a moment, unsure of what to do with it. Secretly, he thinks he has been too, though he doubts it’s for the same reasons as Eddie.

\-------

By the time the Loser’s Club has finished congratulating them all for their respective participation in a race and winning of said race (and ribbing Richie for finally deciding to do something other than play video games and jack off after school) most people have left the meet.

“Ough.” Eddie says, poking his skin. “You guys distracted me long enough that all my sweat dried to my skin, that’s the worst fucking feeling. I might have to resort to the locker room showers.”

“I thought you were scared of foot fungus, have you finally decided to live life on the wild side?” Richie asked.

“Fuck no.” Eddie responds with vehemence, and pulls a pair of flip flops out of his backpack. “Always prepared, never caught off guard.”

Richie rolls his eyes. This fucker really never changes. He follows him to the locker room anyways, because the fucker is also his goddamn ride. 

“I can’t believe you have no problem driving home absolutely soaked in sweat, but doing it dry is a problem."

“Shut the fuck up. I can put towels down for wet sweat, but when it’s dry I can feel my pores clogging with bacteria.” He shudders. “And my clothes are still damp to boot, which is even less pleasant when I’m dry.”

“You just like being wet.” Richie says, laughing. “What a fucking scandal.”

“Sorry,” Eddie snaps, “I think you’ve got me confused with your sister. As far as I know, she’s always wet. But that could just be my presence.”

He slams open the locker room door, letting Richie grab it himself to avoid getting hit, and starts stripping off his shirt. His top half isn’t nearly as buff as his lower body, but it’s still well defined and muscular enough. 

Richie can feel his cheeks heating up at the sight, and he turns away as Eddie starts to tug his shorts and underwear off at once. The thing about having been friends with Eddie since they were kids is that, he supposes, they’ve stripped down to their underwear in front of each other enough that Eddie isn’t even thinking twice about going a step further in front of him. Because Eddie doesn’t think of him that way, not like Richie does. It feels like a breach of trust that Eddie is giving so freely, to look at him like this. He’s just glad he has an excuse not to shower.

“I didn’t even bring a change of clothes, I’m so used to you taking me home right after this shit” Richie huffs with faux irritation.

The shower starts up. “Who’s fucking fault is that doofus?” Eddie snorts.

“Yours.” Richie scoffs, glancing towards the showers. There are no stalls and no curtains, and Eddie’s ass is just in full fucking view. Richie blushes again, regretting looking, but unable to turn away. He takes his jacket off and wraps it around his waist—a preemptive strike against the uncomfortable situation arising in his track shorts.

“It’s not my fucking fault you’re never prepared for anything. I can only hold your hand so fucking much, you little girl.”

“I can’t fucking believe you’re calling me a little girl for not packing a change of clothes. I’ve got enough weighing me down in my pants, I don’t need the added burden.”

“Maybe if you stopped shoving socks down there you wouldn’t have that little problem.” Eddie scoffs, rubbing shampoo into his hair with an efficiency Richie could never manage in the face of the pile of curls currently tied back out of his face. 

“If you need to verify that the bulge in my pants is all natural you can just ask your mom. She’ll back me up.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, shoving his head under the water to rinse, “and if you need confirmation that mine is bigger you can just ask your sister, I’m sure she sees yours all the time.”

“Incest jokes, Eddie? That’s low.”

“Please,” Eddie says, turning the shower off and grabbing his towel to run through his hair, “It’s hardly a first.”

“But it is for yo--” Eddie turns around before wrapping the towel around his waist, his dick fully exposed in Richie’s line of sight for a full second--”u.” Richie finishes, somewhat choked. 

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice the change in tone, walking over to his duffel bag to pull out a fresh pair of boxer briefs and pull them on. He changes, drying more as he goes, seeming not to notice the way Richie has become red faced and silent. He hadn’t gotten a very good look, but he could have sworn that Eddie’s dick was fucking massive. So excuse him if he takes a minute to process the fact that this fucking 5’9 twink that he has had a massive crush on since they were, like, eleven is packing some seriously disproportionate heat.

“Whatever, man, I still haven’t sunk to your disgusting level yet.”

Richie is still recovering, so it takes him a couple seconds to come up with a response, and it’s not a very good one.

“There’s a short joke there somewhere.” 

Eddie rises to the bait anyways. “I’m a perfectly fucking average height, Richie.”

“Where’d you get that statistic from, the Wonka factory?”

Eddie balls his towel up and throws it at Richie. It hits him square in the face. 

“Fuck you man, how’s my dick towel taste?”

“You seem to forget I’m not a hypochondriac like you.” Richie says, tossing the towel back. “I can handle a little dick to the face.”

Then he winces, realizing how his words sound. 

Eddie whistles lowly in response.

“That’s a freudian slip if I’ve ever heard one.”

Richie makes the split second, terrifying decision to fuck it and go all in.

“Sorry,” he says, “have I not mentioned that I’m fucking your step daddy too? Your mom is pretty freaky in bed, she likes a little two for one.”

Eddie tosses his duffel over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose. 

“He’s not my fucking step dad, they’ve only been on two dates.”

Richie isn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he deflates at the response, equal parts relieved and disappointed that Eddie isn’t mentioning the inherent queerness of the statement.

William is a bit of a sore subject for Eddie, though. He’d started hanging around Eddie’s mom around the same time his grandpa in Georgia died and she inherited, like, half a million dollars and a veritable fucking mansion that used to be a plantation.

They’re all pretty sure he hadn’t quite hung up the white bedsheets before he died, so not even Eddie really mourned him, but he was kinda pissy about William’s gold digging ass. And his not so subtle hints about wanting to move to Georgia.

Eddie is eighteen, so he wouldn’t legally have to go with his mother if she decided to move to Georgia, but he’s too financially sensible to go it alone, and his mom is too much of a controlling bitch to support a decision like that financially. Richie swears she treats him more like a fucking lapdog than her kid, or like the adult fucking man that he is. 

He sighs, attempting to pull Eddie into his side as they walk out of the locker room, and accepting the shove and “don’t fucking touch me you nasty bitch, I just showered!” he gets in return gamefully.

“Call me the minute it seems like he’s staying over. I’ll bring the itching powder and we’ll pull a heist on his and your mom’s underwear when they’re sleeping. Your mom will probably think he gave her something and dump his ass so fast it’ll make his head spin. Also, I’ll get to watch whatever circus show they put on when he’s getting kicked out.”

It speaks volumes that Eddie seems to be considering his offer. “At this point, I’m putting that suggestion under the maybe column.” Then he opens his car door and ducks inside.

“Holy shit.” Richie says, opening the passenger door and scrambling inside. “This situation is more dire than I could have imagined.” He pauses, buckling his seatbelt, because Eddie always fucking insists, even though the Loser’s club are practically the only people in Derry who do. “You know if your mom ends up moving you can stay with me, right? My parents don’t give a fuck.” He adds, in a serious tone.

The smile Eddie gives him in return is pained, but grateful. “Hopefully it won’t come to that, I wouldn’t want to keep you from jacking off even more than I already have.”

Richie catches himself before he can voice the _you've been having the exact opposite effect on me since I was, like, thirteen, I doubt anything will change that now_ that’s running through his head. 

Instead, he plasters on a faux pout. “Sure, you’ll jack all your track buddies off but me, I see how it is.”

Eddie just rolls his eyes and turns his key in the ignition, allowing the roar of the engine to muffle their banter.  
\------

When Richie is home, alone, as he usually is, he sits on his bed and stares at his shower. He really needs one, but he knows what happens in showers, and it’s one thing to fantasize about how you imagine your best friend might look naked, and another thing to jack off while knowing _exactly_ what he looks like naked. 

Because now that he’s alone all he can think about is Eddie’s dick, and his thighs, and his ass, and just, like, _him_.

“Fuck.” he groans, flopping back onto his bed. He really needs to get this under control. But the glimpse he had caught had been so brief. It couldn’t have been that big, right? Or maybe Eddie was just a shower? Because personally, Richie is a grower, but he thinks he’s heard some guys say they just stay pretty much the same size, even when they’re soft. In which case Eddie might be just slightly above average? But he wouldn’t know, because he didn’t get a good look at it.

He sighs, shucking off his shorts and resigning himself to the fact that he’s going to jack off to the memory of his friend’s naked body while he showers. 

\------  
The next week finds him still thinking about the size of Eddie’s dick at least once every thirty minutes. Also, apparently, overcompensating.

“Okay,” Eddie says, halting in his tracks on the way to the lake, “what the fuck, is it theme night or something? That was like, your fourth big dick joke in the past hour. We get it, you’re nearsighted, everything looks big to you up close, but you don’t have to take it out on the rest of us.”

Beverly snorts from beside him, and he shoots her a look of betrayal, but he’s too busy focusing on Eddie to respond. Which always seems to be the case these days.

“Your mom seems to like it, and I beat William in a swordfight last night.”

Eddie’s eyes glint. “Whoopdy do, you outdid Mister Micropenis. Doesn’t make your schlong any less subpar.”

“Oh my g-god.” Bill groans. “Just have a fu-f-fucking dick measuring contest and g-g-g-get it over with already.”

“If it’ll shut him the fuck up, at this point I just might.” Eddie groans. 

Richie’s brain screeches to a halt, and he has to force his body to keep moving despite the fact that he knows the mental image he just procured is going to be playing a starring role in his spank bank for months.

“A confident assertion.” Stan says, eyebrows raising. “I think it’s best if you bow out now Richie.”

“Fuck you, Stan, I’m only bowing out because I’m a grower, not a shower, and I can’t get hard if I’m gonna be staring at Spaghetti’s ugly mug.” Lies, blatant lies, but they shall protect him.

Eddie snorts. “Bring your sister in the room and I’m sure we’ll both be able to get it up.”

“Ew.” Stan groans. “Really Eddie?”

Eddie blinks. “Jesus christ, you really are rubbing off on me Richie.”

“I think you’re getting me confused with the rest of the guys on the track team.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose adorably. “For the last fucking time Trashmouth, if you want a circle jerk you’re gonna have to start it up yourself.”

“Jesus.” Beverly says. “Would you guys just fucking jerk eachother off already? The sexual tension is killing me.”

“Fuck off, Bev.” Eddie snaps, and she flips him off before climbing in the clubhouse after the rest of the losers. They must have gone inside while Eddie and Richie were distractedly fighting. She closes the door behind her.

“Hey!” Eddie says, attempting to open it. “What the fuck?”

“I’m serious!” Bev responds through the trap door. “Go measure dicks or whatever the fuck you have to do to settle this shit. I’m not letting you in when you’re mid argument, that never fucking ends well. I don’t want to know how it’ll end when the argument is about dicks.”

“Fuck.” Eddie says, sitting on top of the door. “This is your fucking fault.” He hisses up at Richie. 

“Hey, don’t look at me.” Richie says, raising his hands. “You’re the one that got all pissy about a couple of dick jokes.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fucking whatever.” 

They sit in silence for almost a full minute. 

“Fuck, this is boring.” Richie grumbles. 

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t act like a fucking child!” Eddie yells.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you get all riled up every time I remind you that I’m taller than you, and my dick is bigger, and I’m just generally--”

“You know what?” Eddie seethes, getting up. “Fucking prove it.”

“What?” Richie asks, shrinking back.

“You fucking heard me, Trashmouth, put your money where your goddamn mouth is.”

“I’m--I…”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, and fuck, Richie could never back down from a challenge if he’s the one offering. Shit, this means he’s going to get to see Eddie’s dick again. As long as he doesn’t come immediately from the fulfillment of his childhood fantasies or think too hard about the moral implications of adding this whole thing to his spank bank in glorious technicolor, this could actually be pretty awesome for him.

“Fine.” He says. “You’re on.”

\------

Once they find a tree a sufficient distance away to hide behind while they measure dicks, Richie starts regretting everything he’s done to lead him to this point. Because he’s already hard and now he has to pretend it’s for some reason other than the fact that he’s about to see Eddie’s dick.

He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his hands on the legs of his pants. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks, falling directly into Richie’s master plan.

“Thinking about that time I got to third point five base with Jenny Richardson so I can get it up.”

“What the fuck are you--? I don’t believe for a minute that Jenny Richardson sucked your dick.”

Richie opens and rolls his eyes. “She didn’t, she rode my face in the back of her mom’s jaguar and sent me home with a pat on the back. It was kind of hot though.”

Eddie boggles. “Why have I not heard about this before.”

Richie shrugs. “It felt kind of embarrassing at the time” _and for some reason I felt guilty for enjoying it, even though I know I'll never have you_ , “but now that we’re about to whip our dicks out it doesn’t really anymore.” 

“Whatever.” Eddie says. “I’ll just think about the time Karen Scott called you a dirty little bitch in front of the whole school, that’ll get me going.”

“Aww, you’re fantasizing about me? I’m touched.” Richie coos.

“Shut the fuck up and get your dick out, Tozier.” Eddie snarls.

Richie starts to unzip his shorts, and pauses when Eddie doesn’t do the same.

“Well fucking shed ‘em Eds, I can’t be the only one dropping trou in this forest.”

Eddie grumbles. “Fucking fine. On the count of three.”

Richie rolls his eyes, but prepares his dick for the dramatics, whipping it out when he hears Eddie’s “three!”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

Richie stares so hard at Eddie’s dick he thinks he might burn a hole in it. Then finally, he lets out a “fuck.”

Eddie is a grower. 

Eddie smirks at him. 

“Don’t give me that fucking look.” Richie says, face red. “It’s above average.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned!” Eddie crows.

“No, fuck you,” Richie says, “My dick is bigger than average. Your height is solidly average at best.”

“Fuckin little dick Tozier over here.”

“Fuck you, man! At least mine will fit in a woman!”

“I don’t give a fuck if it will fit in a woman or not now that I know for a fact it’s like, three inches bigger than yours.”

“Oh fuck off,” Richie huffs, “it’s not that much bigger.”

Eddie raises and eyebrow, grabbing his fanny pack off the ground and unzipping it.

“No fucking way.” Richie says. “There’s no fucking way you packed a--”

Eddie pulls a measuring tape out of the fanny pack, gaze still steady on Richie’s.

“What the fuck man?” Richie asks. “Why did you bring that?”

“I’m always prepared Richie.”

“For impromptu dick measuring contests?” Richie asks, somewhat hysterically.

“No.” Eddie huffs. “Ben is thinking about adding to the fort, I brought it so we could measure dimensions.”

“Well shit Eds, guess you gotta measure my dimensions now.”

“Shut the fuck up and get over here.”

Tentatively, Richie sidles up closer to Eddie, watching as he measures his dick, boggling as it comes out to almost seven inches.

Eddie smirks. “Your turn, Trashmouth.”

“Give me that.” Richie says, grabbing the tape from him and measuring his own dick. A little over 5 and a half inches. “Hah!” He crows. “You aren’t even an inch and a half bigger!”

“Still bigger.” Eddie says, smug as fuck. 

“Fuck you.” Richie replies. “I think mine is thicker anyways.”

He eyes the measuring tape appraisingly. It’s the stiff kind, it’s not gonna wrap around their dicks without potentially cutting them and being unpleasantly cold to boot. 

He faces Eddie, pushing his dick up against his stomach and scooting closer.

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks. “Don’t come near me with that fucking thing.”

Richie snorts. “It’s not like I’m trying to touch tips or anything, I just can’t tell who’s is thicker, we’ve gotta press them together.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie asks. “My dick is bigger, get over it.”

“Then accept that mine is thicker. Girls like that more anyways.”

Eddie growls. “Fucking christ, Richie!”

Then his hand darts out to grab Richie’s dick, grabbing it firmly by the base and lining it up with his own.

Richie can’t help it, he makes a startled little noise. A startled little noise that sounds quite a bit like a moan. 

Look, who can fucking blame him. Eddie is touching his dick. On purpose, with his hand and with his own dick. He’s been fantasizing about this asshole for as long as he’s been touching his own dick, he’s allowed to get a little rowdy.

Eddie freezes at the sound, and Richie jolts, scrambling for something to say.

“Warn a guy before you touch his dick, Jesus!”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fucking whatever, Richie.” Then his eyes fall back down to their dicks, and Richie has to bite his lip to hold himself back as Eddie presses them more firmly together. His brow wrinkles in concentration. 

God, he’s hot when he’s thinking. And touching his dick. Did Richie mention that Eddie Kasprack is currently _touching his dick_?

His hips twitch minutely forward, barely noticeable, really, but of course Eddie notices because that means their dicks are sliding together.

“Can you hold st--” Eddie asks angrily, looking up at Richie. Whatever he sees must stop him in his tracks, because he just finishes with an “--oh.”

Richie feels overexposed all of the sudden, and moves as if to take a step back, but Eddie is holding him firm. By the dick. He has him by the dick.

“Uh.” Richie says, unsure what’s happening. Alarm bells are going off in his head under that scrutinizing gaze. 

“Richie...” Eddie begins, his voice trailing off.

Richie tries to make a sound that sounds more like a inquiry than a moan, but he’s not sure how well it works seeing as Eddie’s hand is _still on his dick_.

“Do you want me to jerk you off?”

“What?” Richie asks, searching Eddie’s face. Then again. “What? No--” Richie laughs nervously, sure Eddie is fucking with him.

“If you ask me to jerk you off, I will.”

“What?” Richie says, weakly. He’s distinctly aware of the fact that Eddie’s hand has not left his fucking dick.

“You heard me.”

“I uh--” Eddie takes his hand off his dick. “Uh!” he says, more urgently. Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“Uh?” Eddie asks, somewhat mockingly. “Jesus, Rich, if I knew offering you a handie would be all it took to get you to shut the fuck up I would have done it years ago.”

Richie wants to say _okay_ or _give me a handjob_ or even _please touch my dick again_ but instead he says “let me suck your dick?”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise even further. 

_Shit_ Richie thinks _shit, shit, shit_. He’s gone too far, Eddie is going to turn him down, why couldn’t he just be happy with his handjob?

“Yeah.” Eddie says. “I mean, I guessed that would be a more effective method of shutting you up, but I didn’t figure it was on the table.”

He wants to say _everything is on the table_ , but he’s not sure if he’s ready for that kind of candidness. So instead he just sinks to his knees in front of Eddie.

“Fuck.” He says. “You really are big.” He had tried to infuse a measure of despair in there, but it just ends up coming out sincere and wondering.

“Who knew you were such a fucking size queen, Trashmouth?”

“Hey, you’re about to stick your dick in this mouth, don’t diss it.”

“Oh my god, shut up and suck my dick.”

Richie deliberates for a moment on whether he should retort or not, but he can’t come up with one, so he just shrugs and grabs the base of Eddie’s dick, guiding it gently into his mouth.

“Fuck.” Eddie hisses. 

Confidence bolstered, Richie begins to suck. He has no real point of reference for how to do this, no real idea what he’s doing at all, but Eddie’s head thunks back against the bark of the tree and he lets out a choked moan, so he figures he can’t be doing too bad of a job. 

Richie slides his mouth further down slowly, still sucking, then Eddie’s hips twitch forward and he hits the back of his throat and Richie gags a little and has to pull back. 

Eddie snorts, and Richie looks up at him and very deliberately rolls his eyes, but doesn’t stop, just rolls his tongue around the head of Eddie’s cock and watches him bite his lip and screw his eyes shut. He smirks involuntarily at the win, because who could have thought that this would be just as effective for shutting Eddie up as it is for shutting Richie up? Definitely something he plans to file away into his arsenal for when they’re home alone playing on his Atari and Eddie accuses him of cheating. Which is regularly.

Richie tries to school his mouth out of the smirk and into a shape a little more suited for sucking dick, and all it really takes is looking up at the face Eddie is making right now. His face is flushed red and he’s sweating just a little despite the chill forest air. His eyes have opened again, and they’re staring wide and laser focused on Richie, one hand in his mouth, biting on a knuckle, the other clenched to a fist at his side. The sight makes him keenly aware of his own dick, and the fact that it is throbbing with all the blood that had left his brain the minute he realized he was gonna see Eddie’s dick again. He takes the hand that isn’t steadying the base of Eddie’s cock and slides it down his thighs just to feel the way they’re trembling before he lets it drop off and firmly grip his own dick. 

After a couple strokes while he sucks the head of Eddie’s cock, Richie stills his hand and pulls off. Eddie groans, making a face like he might complain.

“Grab my hair.” Richie says, before Eddie can begin. Eddie’s eyes widen, and he pauses for a moment, then grabs the end of Richie’s hair. Richie knows he likes having his hair grabbed while giving head because Jenny had done it and he had almost proposed to her on the spot when she’d started moving his head where she wanted it by her grip on the roots. 

Eddie yanks his head back and he hisses in pain and surprise (though he really doesn’t know why he’s surprised, it’s _Eddie_ ). 

“Not like that.” Richie grumbles, because Eddie had almost given him a bald patch and he does not look in the least bit remorseful, the fucker. “At the roots, grip the crown of my head.”

Eddie sinks his hand further into Richie’s hair, hands easily threading through the fine curls. Richie thanks whatever deity had helped them kill that fucking clown for also leading him to start using his mom’s conditioner instead of continuing to believe his three in one gel monstrosity would cut it. That shit is clearly the sole reason Eddie’s hands aren’t getting caught on tangles and he never would have used her stuff pre-It. Though he still would never _admit_ that he uses the stuff now. 

“Soft.” Eddie murmurs. Then he clutches harder, moving Richie’s head back a bit, and he moans around his cock. Getting a compliment from Eddie is already great, getting a compliment from Eddie while he’s sucking his cock and Eddie is pulling his hair is apparently _fantastic_.

“Oh, you _do_ like that.” Eddie says, voice raspy and low and wondering. Richie just hums an affirmation, becuase _yes, he does like that very much, more please and thank you_.

“Do you want more?” Eddie asks. Then instead of waiting for an answer he just fucks himself further into Richie’s mouth, and when Richie just moans, his grip spasming against Eddie’s thigh, Eddie tugs his hair again. Richie clumsily scrambles to press his palm against his dick. 

“Shit.” Eddie says. “You’re fucking desperate.” 

Richie really, _really_ wants to make an indignant noise at that, but he thinks it comes out as more of a whine, becuase his shitty fucking vocal cords are always betraying him, dammit. 

Eddie just presses him further down onto his cock, and Richie manfully avoids choking.

“Fuck.” Eddie moans, and it's desperate, he sounds close to the edge. “Fuuuuuck.”

Eddie is fucking his face in earnest now, and Richie just rests one hand against his thigh and fists the other around his cock, riding out the storm. He doesn’t know why his mouth is so sensitive, why it feels so good to have Eddie’s pressure, hot and hard, sliding against his tongue and pushing up against his throat, but it does. Eddie is making these beautiful little whining grunts, and the sound is shooting straight down to Richie’s dick. Suddenly the moans turn into one elongated sound, and his mouth tastes quite a bit saltier than it had a minute ago, then is empty, then his face is wet.

He blinks owlishly, then swallows the come that had made it into his mouth, his hand momentarily still with shock. He hadn’t even had to close his eyes, but his glasses are now striped with white, and Eddie is this strange combination of shocked and sated that should _definitely not_ be so sexy, and Richie starts furiously stroking himself again. He had already been so close before, and he comes hard, the memory of Eddie’s come splashing over his face still fresh in his mind.

He recovers slowly, looking up at Eddie, who’s surprise seems much more muted now, but is still somewhat present.

“I was going to reciprocate after I recovered.” He says, seemingly bemused.

Richie licks his lips, and the salty taste and Eddie’s words send a jolt of arousal through him that warms his belly but does nothing to his spent dick.

“Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me another time.” Richie says, sounding more confident than he feels.

“Guess I will.” Eddie responds.  
——-

It becomes a regular thing after that, to the point where Richie becomes so, so glad that both his parents work and, unlike Eddie’s mom, are practically never in the house. 

They also talk a lot more. Which is saying something, because between cross country and the two classes they share, they were already talking a lot. Add “horny teenage shenanigans conducted whenever possible” on top of that and suddenly they’re dicking around an innumerable amount and having serious conversations about once a week. Which no one would expect from the two resident doofuses at the school, least of all Richie, King Trashmouth of DoofusVille. 

Mostly, they talk about Ms.Kapsbrak’s sugar baby, the most annoying man on earth, and his dastardly plan to steal Eddie’s happiness, college fund, and mother. Though, after learning about the gazebos Eddie is less averse to his mother being stolen and more upset at the fact that his future is now unstable.

“Just fart on everything he owns.” Richie suggests helpfully.

He’s lying on Eddie’s bed, tossing a rubber ball up in the air and catching it as he and Eddie talk. He is unfortunately fully clothed, which is Eddie’s fault; he’d insisted upon it directly after blowing Richie’s mind with the most awkward blowjob of his life. The only blowjob of his life. Whatever. 

Eddie makes a disgusted face. 

“You’re such a fucking caveman.”

“And yet you let me take your precious mouth virginity right away.” Richie teases, dropping the ball onto the bed and rolling on top of Eddie. 

Eddie just rolls his eyes at him and then gives him a look that Richie knows by now means he’s seriously considering shoving him off. So he leans down to kiss Eddie. Its surprisingly gentle. He keeps surprising himself with how soft he can be towards Eddie. When they break apart, Eddie’s expression is soft too. 

They haven’t spoken about what this is; what they are. Well, other than a couple of queers, that is. But what’s new? Richie’s known that for a while now. He just wonders if Eddie knew. If Eddie still likes girls too--if that confuses him sometimes like it confuses Richie, if he wonders what that means about him. Eddie stretches his neck up to kiss Richie, and he just melts into it. They don’t have to say much. Richie knows they’re both too afraid to, that if they put it into words about feelings it’ll be more than just fucking around and that--that’s dangerous, in more ways than one. Despite that, they both know what this really is. Richie can feel it in his bones, in his heart, in the way Eddie’s lips press soft and warm and reverent against his. They killed that filthy fucking clown together five years ago, and there’s no going back, this is love. This is it for them.

Not that either of them would ever admit it out loud.

Not that either of them needs to.

Suddenly, Eddie is pushing him off by the chest, and he falls back onto the bed with a dramatic "oof".

“Don’t fucking try to distract me Tozier, I was complaining about William.”

“Oh god.” Richie grimaces. “What about that made you think of him? Excuse me while I chop my tongue off in shame.”

Richie sticks his tongue out and starts pawing at it dramatically, as if to tug it out. Eddie slaps his hands away, looking disgusted and surprised, like he hadn’t realized he might end up touching Richie's spit in the process.

“Get your hands out of your fucking mouth, do you know how much bacteria you just put on your tongue?”

“Not as much as you did thirty minutes ago, heyo!” Richie exclaims, holding a hand up for a high five.

Eddie sighs. “You know I’m not going to high five you for that, right?”

“You can’t just leave me _hanging_ Spagheds!” Richie says, infusing his voice with mock betrayal.

“I can and I will and do not fucking call me that, Trashmouth.”

“At least my nicknames for you are cute and affectionate.” Richie pouts, lowering his hand. “Yours are just cruel and unusual.”

Eddie actually looks a bit remorseful for a second, until Richie can no longer hold back his shit eating grin and it breaks out across his face. Then Eddie just rolls his eyes, slow and deliberate.

“Clearly you love it. Fucking humiliation fetishist.” 

“Oh noooo,” Richie drawls, “you found out my secret, now you’re going to have to bend me over the bed and call me a dirty little slut while you spank me.” He winks, wiggling his butt suggestively at Eddie, who turns bright red at his words.

“Where do you even come up with this shit?” Eddie splutters.

Richie rolls back over so his ass is no longer on prominent display, a bit disappointed that Eddie hadn’t taken him up on the clear invitation for a game of chicken. 

“The writhing pink folds of my juicy brain Ed-boy.” He says, watching Eddie’s expression morph into disgust “Also playboy and Cosmo magazines don’t hurt.” He shrugs.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Of course, you probably bought a playboy the minute you turned eighteen, didn’t you.”

“Nah,” Richie says, “Cosmo from mom’s stash, playboy from dad’s. I’ve been sneaking peeks at the contraband material since I was fifteen.”

Eddie snorts a laugh. “Figures it would take you getting bored and snooping through your parent’s porn to get you to read.”

“What can I say,” Richie sniffs, affecting a snooty British accent, “I’m a man of culture.”

A silence descends upon them, and when Richie glances over Eddie seems contemplative. Richie sighs.

“Maybe we should just kill your mom so you get the money and William goes the fuck away.”

Eddie startles at his voice, then levels a bland stare at Richie as he finishes his proposition. Then he sighs, a little sincerity returning to his face.

“I’ve thought about it.” He confesses, no longer looking at Richie. “When I found out about the placebos.” He looks down at his own hand, which clenches into a fist. “Not seriously, and not about actually killing her, obviously. Just how much better my life would be if she were dead. I was young and scared out of my mind and realizing that most of my fears were irrational--were her fault. I honestly hated her, for a while.”

There's a pause before Eddie sighs again, and Richie just waits, silent, knowing this isn’t the time for a joke, even if he’s itching to make one, to relieve the seriousness.

“I guess she was just doing what she thought would keep me safe or whatever. She’s fucked up. She doesn’t realize what living is, she’s so worried about dying of some obscure disease. She fucked me up too.”

“Half of your hypochondriac bullshit is just a reflex by now.” Richie assures. “Just because you killed a dumbass clown and a lot of shit pales in comparison to that doesn’t mean you’re going to suddenly forget 13 years of training to piss your pants at the thought of bacteria.”

Eddie laughs, and Richie smiles back at him. It must be blinding, Eddie usually never laughs at the jokes Richie makes surrounding his life, finding new ways to make him laugh never ceases to leave Richie euphoric.

“Remember when I ate a peanut butter sandwich for the first time?” He asks.

Richie laughs. “Yeah, you only had me on the sidelines with three epi-pens, it was a miracle you didn’t pack at least ten.”

“I think the only thing I’m actually allergic to is dust mites, I will never need a single one of those epi-pens.”

Richie shrugs. “Good to have them on hand in case Timmy Nelson ever enters the same room as a strawberry again.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t because he was in the same room, it was because someone who had eaten a strawberry touched his face, and he has his own epi-pens.”

“Who’s even deathly allergic to _strawberries_?” Richie asks.

“Timmy Nelson, and if my mom is to be believed, me. Though on principle we no longer should believe anything my mom says about me. In fact, we should probably check my birth certificates and make sure you aren’t cradle robbing me.”

Richie snorts a laugh. “You know damn well that if she were lying about your age it would be because you were older than she’s admitting, not younger. I bet you’re actually twenty five and she just wanted to keep you out of school as long as possible--too many germs.”

“Ough.” Eddie says, crinkling his nose. “Don’t even broach that possibility, I could totally see her doing that.”

“Oh swoon.” Richie says. “An older man.”

Eddie grins, opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then his smile falters.

Richie is reminded, suddenly, that they are in a gay relationship in small town Maine. He is also reminded of the fact that they have not spoken about or defined that relationship.

He rolls onto his back again so he doesn’t have to look at Eddie, preferring the ceiling. 

“You know, it’s funny, we killed the nightmare clown that’s practically designed just to make kids shit their pants, we shouldn’t be afraid of anything anymore, but…” He trails off, figuring he said enough.

He feels a warm hand brush against his, then Eddie’s fingers weave between his. He closes his eyes. This is everything he wanted, but some part of him still wishes for more. He feels like a selfish dickwad, he’s alive, he’s with the boy he’s loved since he was twelve, but he still wants more. All he wants is to be unafraid, to be able to hold hands with Eddie on the street and not have to worry about becoming a target. He’s grown half a foot since they killed that rubber nosed piece of shit, but he still has the same old fear.

“I read that in California, they don’t care as much if you’re…” Eddie trails off, but Richie knows exactly what he was going to say. Every word he can think of to describe what he is, what they are, feels dirty. He allows himself to hope, for a moment, that one day he’ll stop feeling that way.

“Lets go to California, after graduation.” Richie says. “You and me. We’ll move in to a house in the suburbs somewhere, you’ll get some boring ass job that pays the big bucks, and I’ll disguise myself as your freakishly tall trophy wife.”

“We’ll say you’re a supermodel.” Eddie snorts.

“Implying I couldn’t actually be one?” Richie asks, faux incredulous. “With a jaw like this I totally could.”

Eddie smiles, and there’s a long silence between them before he speaks up again.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “California.”  
\------  
It’s a miracle that all seven of them managed to stay in Derry as long as they had, Richie thinks, staring at the pile of letters settled on the bed. All seven of them crowded into this one, shitty little town. It couldn’t contain them, they’re too big for it.

“I’m just saying,” Bev says, “you should at least send in some applications next year. Your grandpa won’t be keeping an eye on it anymore.”

“What’s the point?” Mike asks. “I’ve been homeschooled for way too long. I’m way behind in some really important subjects.”

“You’re smart, though.” Bev assures. “You read a ton and you know a lot. You wouldn’t have any trouble catching up.”

“Maybe.” Mike says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll think about it.”

All of them had decided to read their letters together. They let them pile up a couple weeks, letters that will decide their future, let them know who will go to which college. There’s a pit sinking its way down to the bottom of Richie’s stomach. He had applied to a shitton of colleges, most of which were in California. He doesn’t care, exactly, where he goes, as long as its with Eddie. Eddie, who’s mother had forced him to apply to a few colleges in Georgia, but hadn’t been able to stop him from applying to two more in California. 

Two chances. He has two windows of opportunity to get into the same college as Eddie. UCLA or San Francisco State. 

He feels a little guilty for not caring as much about everyone else’s college choices. It sucks that they all seem to have different colleges they most want to attend, sure, but they promised they’d keep in touch. They all have Mike’s phone number written on a piece of paper, tucked away somewhere they won’t lose it. Not that Richie doesn’t already have Mike’s number memorized. 

Internally, he’s a bit grateful that Mike is staying in Derry. Even if that’s a shitty thing to be grateful for, given that Mike wants to stay behind just as little as the rest of them. Probably less, given all the extra shit that happened to him before It. It would have been stupid complicated trying to get in touch with everyone again without Mike as a communications hub, though. Or it would at least have involved a lot of weedling and desperate attempts to get their parents to communicate with each other and pass along their new numbers. Besides, he thinks, Bev is right, Mike will only be here for like a year max before he gets his brilliant ass to college. By then he’ll have all their new numbers and he’ll be the one that needs to call them.

He picks up the letter from UCLA. His hands are shaking a little bit. He can’t help but let his gaze fall on Eddie, who is also looking at one of his own letters.

Eddie meets his eye and smiles softly. Its a comforting little thing, and it sets his heart aching. He smiles back, and opens the letter. 

He shouldn’t be nervous. He’s a “surprisingly good student, for such a fucking idiot” according to Eddie at least. That opinion is also likely silently (and in some cases verbally) held by all his teachers. Regardless, he can barely get the letter open.

Once he does, though, he almost goes boneless with relief. One of the first words that catch his eye is congratulations. He turns his gaze on Eddie, who seems in a similar state of happiness. 

“Which one?” Richie asks.

“UCLA.” Eddie replies, smiling. “You?”

“Yeah.” Richie responds, and a grin splits his face. That had been their top choice. They’re going to go to college together.

He tosses an arm around Eddie, who leans into the touch with an uncharacteristic lack of complaint. Richie squeezes him into his side. “I can’t wait until we’re roomies!” He crows. “Life is about to be one big sleepover, my good man.”

“Oh god,” Eddie replies, “on second thought, I think i’ll go to Georgia.” But he can’t tamp down on the smile curling up into his cheek, and Richie, riding his elated high, kisses him right on his dimple.  
——  
They graduate high school in a flurry of diplomas and gaudy mustard yellow caps thrown into the sky. They’re all practically vibrating with the knowledge that soon, very soon, they will be out of this shithole for good. That is, except for Mike, who seems to have a bit more of a muted, bittersweet happiness. It’s happiness nonetheless though, since Bev has convinced him to apply for colleges next year. He’s just as impatient to be out of this town as the rest of them, but he will be eventually. 

They all gather in the basement of Richie’s house. Usually they alternate between his house, Bill’s, or the clubhouse, but tonight it’s Richie’s, because his dad had given him a 36 pack of beer, a wink, and a congratulatory pat on the back before promptly fucking off that morning. 

Richie was half surprised he even showed up to the graduation ceremony, but both he and his mom had been there. They aren’t home now though, which he supposes is their graduation present for him, along with the beer. 

He’s three beers in and pleasantly buzzed, staring up at the ceiling, just listening to all the losers chatter softly amongst themselves, when Eddie sidles up next to him. 

“They decided on a moving date.” He says. His voice sounds a bit sad, so Richie turns the full strength of his gaze on him, loopy as it is becoming.

“Yeah?” He asks.

Eddie nods. “Two weeks.”

Shit. “Shit.” Richie says. “They want you to come with them, don’t they?”

Eddie nods. “She’s going to sell the house. She says I can’t stay over the summer. Besides, they need someone to help them move in.” He fidgets nervously with a thread at the bottom of his shirt. 

“She’s gonna try to get you to stay in Georgia with her.” Richie says darkly.

“I know.” Eddie responds. “But Georgia is a stop on the way to California, and it makes sense, especially since I would have nowhere else to stay here in Derry.”

“You could stay with me.” Richie protests.

“For a month and a half?” Eddie responds, bemused.

“We could make it work, my parents don’t give a fuck.”

“But mine does.” Eddie replies. Richie understands. Sonia’s financial support is already tentative. Eddie worries a shitton about the future, he’s not the kind of guy that can just wing it with student loans and a dream, especially not if there’s a chance of having his mom’s support.

“Okay.” He says, and his heart aches. “I would like it noted that I’m very sad, though. I was looking forward to our road trip for the ages. It would have been magical.”

“We can still take a road trip some other time.” Eddie says, a smile playing on his lips. “Maybe one that won’t involve forty hours of driving and take a week, to decrease my chances of murdering you in cold blood.”

Richie snorts. “You could never murder me in cold blood, Eds, you’re too hot.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he sinks his hand into Richie’s hair to scratch at his scalp. Richie melts into the touch, boneless and relaxed, and allows himself to just breathe as he lays by Eddie’s side.  
\-----  
“Hey,” Eddie asks, a week later, when they’re on one of their pseudo dates at Richie’s house, “do you want to go on a picnic with me?”

“A picnic?” Richie asks, snorting a bit at the idea. It doesn’t really jibe with their general vibe.

“Yes, douchenozzle. It’s fucking nice out and I want to appreciate nature, come on a picnic with me.” Then he stomps down the hall to where the blankets are and starts pulling out the shittiest ones. Richie follows behind at a more leisurely pace.

“I don’t get a choice anymore?” He asks, bemused.

“You never did.” Eddie responds, rolling his eyes.

“Noted.” Richie laughs. He grabs a backpack for Eddie to stuff the blankets into.

They trundle out into the forest, Richie following Eddie’s lead and poking fun at him all the while.

“You know there’s ticks in this forest right? Aren’t you worried about Malaria?”

He knows it’s wrong, but he says it anyways just to get a rise out of Eddie. He doesn’t know what kind of masochist it makes him to genuinely enjoy getting chewed out by a 5’9 twink with hypochondria, but he’s living with it.

“That’s fucking mosquitoes, you imbecile. Ticks carry lyme disease, and they’re also like the whole reason I made you apply quote ‘fifty fucking layers of bug spray Eddie, oh my god!’” He makes air quotes and a strange face to accompany his reenactment of the moment.

“It’s cute listening to you completely fail to impersonate me.” Richie says, with a dreamy sigh.

“Shut the fuck up, just shut the fuck up.” Eddie fumes. “I swear to god I have no clue how you have straight As, how the fuck do you have better grades than me? You’re like Derry’s worst fucking cryptid. Your entire existence is a question mark that I have been saddled with the unfortunate duty of making sense of.” 

“Well, you can saddle me any day, baby.” Richie says, with a lascivious wink. “Bareback works too though.”

Eddie’s face alights with a wonderful cherry red at that, and he groans. “I hate you, you know that? I really do.”

“Your anger fuels me.” Richie says, with his most shit-eating grin splayed across his face.

“Evidently.” Eddie sighs. “We’re here, by the way.”

He comes to a stop by a tree. A very familiar tree, despite the much warmer weather. 

“Oh.” Richie says, simply, a bit caught off guard. It’s the tree where it all had began. It would almost be romantic, if it weren’t for the fact that the beginning had been a high stakes dick measuring contest that ended with him splooging all over the forest floor. But for them, well, it’s kind of romantic anyways.

He feels this sense of love wash over him, for what must be at least the tenth time today. He wants to thank Eddie, but he isn’t sure what for, isn’t sure how to phrase what he’s even thankful for. What would he say, thanks for caring? " _Thank you, because I’m pretty sure this means that I’m at least half as important to you as you are to me?_ ” 

Instead, he just says “I think you’re standing in my jizz,” and watches as Eddie practically leaps 5 feet in the air.

“Real funny, asshole!” Eddie screeches, slapping him on the arm. He snickers, grabbing the blankets from the backpack and laying them down on the grass. Eddie huffs, seemingly placated by his helpfulness, and lays down on the blankets. Richie sits next to him, leaning against the tree, thigh nudging Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie bats it away and looks up at him, irritated. Richie just grins back.

“You’re such a fucking middle schooler.” Eddie complains. “When are you gonna stop pulling my pigtails.”

“Literally never.” Richie responds. “You could go bald and I would put your pubes in little pigtails just so I could pull them.”

“Gross.” Eddie says, scrunching his face up, and apparently deciding it wasn’t worth retaliating beyond that, he sighs, staring up into the bows of the tree. His face goes relaxed and peaceful, and despite himself, Richie can’t seem to break the moment.

He casts around for something to entertain himself with, some slice of peace that can be found by some means other than staring at Eddie like a completely obvious lovestruck dope. His gaze settles on a patch of flowers. Vibrant blue stalks shoot up into the sky. He’s seen them before, and he always thought they looked like lavender. Pretty little things that he can’t help but love, tall and proud. They remind him of Eddie a little bit, for no other reason than because they're beautiful and they make him happy.

He looks at them, and an idea forms. It’s a sappy goddamn idea but…

He gets up, ignoring the lazy way Eddie’s gaze shifts to peek at him from under his eyelashes, and goes over to the flowers. He snaps three up from the bottom of the stalk, the prettiest ones, and walks over to hand them to Eddie.

“Here.” He says, handing them to him.

Eddie takes them silently, searching his face. It’s like he’s looking for a punchline, but Richie has none to offer, not this time. Eddie had brought him here, and it had been vulnerable. He had shown he had cared and Richie hadn’t had the words to thank him. This is the only thing he can think of to show Eddie that he cares too. 

Eddie’s face softens for a moment, and he looks down at the flowers, then back up at Richie. When he looks back up, there’s something in his gaze that Richie recognizes, and the realization strikes to the core of him. This yearning he feels in himself is mirrored in Eddie’s face, plain as day.

He freezes. How could he move? How could he even breathe after seeing that?

“Thank you.” Eddie says, and leans up to kiss Richie. It is soft, and lingering, and when Eddie’s hand comes up to cup his face, he covers it with his own. 

“I always used to think of you when I saw those flowers around.” Richie breathes, once Eddie pulls away. If this is what being candid gets him he figures he should go all in.

Eddie looks down at the flowers, and it’s a wonder he doesn’t see himself in them.

“Why?” He asks.

Richie just shrugs. “They’re my favorite.”  
\-----

“The common bugle.” Eddie says, the next time he sees Richie--which is a day later.

“What?” Richie asks.

“The flower.” Eddie says. “Your favorite. I went to the library and did some research. It’s the common bugle.”

“Oh.” Richie says, and he wonders how Eddie keeps doing it, how he keeps showing he cares without even needing to say it, how he manages to be so goddamn reassuring.

“Isn’t a bugle a kind of horn?” Richie asks, because he’s stupid.

“Uh…” Eddie responds, brow furrowed. “It’s a brass instrument, yeah.”

“Neat.” He responds.

Eddie looks at him like he lost his goddamn mind. He will, if Eddie doesn’t stop being so perfect.

“Uh.” He says, still eloquent. “Thanks. For finding it. That must have taken a lot of time.” His face is flushing red now, he can feel it, but he feels accomplished for managing to say something genuine, even though it makes him feel a little queasy too.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, his face soft again, like it was under the tree, “of course.”

\------  
The day before Eddie’s departure, they have another sleepover, just the two of them this time. He wants to give him a proper send off. Rather than breaking a bottle against his hull though, he goes down on Eddie with such a fervent dedication that he thinks, at one point, that Eddie might cry from it. He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. 

They lay in bed besides each other, and Richie stretches out a hand between, fingers intertwining with Eddie’s. 

“You better call as much as possible.” He says. “You have my number memorized, you better use it.”

“Of course.” Eddie says. “I’ll even risk payphones for you, if I can find any on the trip.”

“Plus the phones in the hotel rooms, if they have any.”

“Plus those.” Eddie acquiesces. He leans over and kisses Richie on the lips then, soft and tender. “I promise.”  
\-------  
Richie gets a total of one phone call from Eddie. Then radio silence. Its been three weeks since he last heard from Eddie, and he is nervous as hell.

“He probably just hasn’t set up his landline yet.” Stanley reassures, for what must be the fifth time in the past hour. “It’s fine.”

Richie hadn’t even said anything, but he knows that Stan can tell he’s worried from the way he chews his thumbnail.

“I know.” Richie replies. “I just, his mom. What if he sat down on the wrong bed in one of the hotel rooms and his mom didn’t see him and crushed him to death? She hates us! We’d never know because she’d never tell us.”

Stanley rolls his eyes. “I’m sure Eddie is uncrushed. Now stop freaking out. He put down a deposit to commit to UCLA. You’ll see him in a month, even if you don’t hear from him before then.”

Richie nods, and spends the next month trying desperately not to think about Eddie Kaspbrak, and the fact that it does not take that goddamn long to set up a phone line.  
\------  
He’s the loser that’s traveling the farthest for college, so he’s the first to leave Derry. He gives himself two weeks before the move in day so that he has plenty of time to meander his way across the country. He has to use like, ten different maps for the trip, but he lays out a vague route for himself. Some things he wants to see along the way, just because he can, circled in red. One small town in Georgia in black, with a sticky note with an address attached to it.

The losers all hug him goodbye, and make him promise to call, and to let them know how Eddie is doing once he catches up to him. 

He looks at all of them, standing around him, still awkward looking teenagers, but also, somehow, adults. He harbors so much love for them all that he thinks he might burst. Still, the most important one is missing, and he won’t rest until he tracks him down and figures out why the fuck he hasn’t been calling.

He turns around before he can start crying pathetically about the fact that he wont be seeing them all in person every day anymore, and gets into his car to take the interstate as far west as he can.  
\-----  
He stops at a shitty little hotel later that night, when his butt is so numb he wonders if it’ll get pins and needles, and his eyes and legs are both aching.

He feels exhausted, and his mind is fuzzy and empty and strange feeling. As soon as he hits the pillow, he’s out like a light. 

In the morning, he spends ten minutes staring at the hotel phone. He knows he needs to call someone, he just is wracking his brain over who and coming up empty. His stomach growls, and he sighs and shakes his head. He’ll figure it out eventually. 

At the diner across the street, once he’s eaten his breakfast and is pulling out his wallet to pay, he finds a piece of paper he doesn’t remember putting in there. It’s a little scrap of paper that just has the name Mike and a number written on it in neat, deliberate letters.

He stares at it, puzzled. He doesn’t recall anyone named Mike…

He wracks his brain, coming up the same kind of blank he had when he was trying to make the phone call. Maybe this is who he was supposed to call? He snorts at the thought. Its ridiculous, why would he call someone he can’t even remember meeting. It was probably just his mom he was supposed to call. She normally wouldn’t care that much, but… well, he can’t think of anyone else it might be.

He gives the paper one last look before throwing it in the trash. He’s going to California to get as far away from Derry as possible. He doesn’t need the numbers of people from that shitty little town crowding up his wallet, not when he can’t even remember who they are.

Later, in his car, while he’s looking over his map, he notices that the route goes off track for a stop in Georgia. He crinkles his brow, wondering why on earth he had decided to add a day and a half onto his trip to stop in Georgia, of all places. There’s a post it note stuck to one of the maps with an address on it, but he can’t remember who’s it is. Its in a residential area.

He frowns at it. Maybe it belongs to that Mike guy, he thinks, then snorts at how ridiculous that thought is. No, it’s probably just some relative he decided to visit and then forgot about. Or maybe he stole one of his dad’s maps and didn’t notice a mark was already there. He shrugs to himself. Well, tough nuts. He’s kind of curious about the address, but not curious enough to drive an extra couple hundred miles.

He flounders for a pen, and revises his route.  
\-----

Twenty Two Years Later

\------  
The first time Richie locks eyes with Eddie he is struck by a violently vivid memory. Them laying on his bed. Eddie whispering the word California as their sweaty hands lay twined between them. A promise, near benediction. Suddenly, he remembers a few things in quick succession. The knowledge that they were supposed to go to UCLA together, two months of confusion and hurt, waiting for Eddie’s call, twenty two years of a feeling like something is missing. 

Eddie was his something. All the losers were, but _Eddie_? Eddie especially.

He’s hit with a fourth piece of knowledge, that he is unreasonably in love with Eddie Kaspbrack.

He wants so badly to leap up and exclaim “you were supposed to meet me there, you were supposed to be there with me! Maybe if you had been with me we wouldn’t have forgotten.”

But he’s a forty year old man, and even he knows that that’s a childish way to think. This isn’t Eddie’s fault, it’s Its. Besides, his eye catches on a glint of gold on Eddie’s finger and his jaw nearly drops when he realizes what it is, all thoughts crowded out of his mind and replaced with a searing jealousy.

“Holy shit.” He says, more words escaping his body than a conscious effort to speak. “Eddie, you’re married?”

“Yeah.” Eddie says. He seems somewhat confused that Richie is so surprised, but otherwise unbothered.

“To a woman?” Richie blurts.

“Yes, asshole.” Eddie responds, gaze steely for a second before he rolls his eyes and diverts his attention. 

Richie is confused. It had been a genuine question, but he guesses it could have been taken as a joke. Especially so if Eddie doesn’t remember what they were, he thinks darkly.

But what _were_ they, he wonders. He barely remembers anything, but it all feels so significant. He feels like he’s scratching the surface of something, like he’s moments away from uncovering some new memory, but then Ben asks him a question about his stand up and his thoughts are drawn away before he can unleash them.

It seems Eddie forgot a lot about him, judging by the fact that, throughout the night, he never gives him a single weird look. Nothing assessing, just the normal disgust at his jokes and furious retaliation. Richie, on the other hand, feels like he can’t pry his gaze away from Eddie.

He keeps thinking that he’ll look up and see something like recognition on Eddie’s face, but it never happens. Either Eddie doesn’t remember or… Richie’s face gaze falls on the wedding band again. Maybe he doesn’t want to remember.  
\----  
When he falls asleep that night, he dreams of a life without Eddie, of going to California and knowing something is missing, even if he doesn’t remember what. He wakes up sad and still tired, and he just wants to go home. 

Instead, he collects his stupid token, and remembers his shitty memory, and gets his fucking lecture about the importance of teamwork. He lets it all wash over him in a daze, until Eddie gets stabbed in the face and suddenly he’s in a library with a mullet wearing murderer that is trying to murder his friend. 

He does the only thing he can, grabs the nearest weapon and swings.

Murder does not feel good. No matter how bad the man he’s murdering was.

The axe connects with Bower’s head with a meaty thunk. He’s a forty year old comedian living a plush life in LA. He has never swung an axe in his life, let alone into human flesh. Bowers collapses nonetheless, dead.

He loses the contents of his stomach, and when he comes up, gasping for air, he says “fuck, that’s DNA evidence.”

“It was self defense.” Mike reassures.

“I’m an axe murderer now.” Richie says, hysterically.

“That was a tomahawk.” Mike murmurs, seeming a bit shellshocked himself.

“Well, tomahawk murderer just doesn’t have the same ring to it, don’t you think?” He snarks.

That’s the moment he realizes there’s no backing down. In for a penny, in for a pound, he’s in this shitty town until they get the murder he just fucking commited sorted out, so he might as well help kill the fucking clown.  
\-----  
In the deadlights, he sees himself, and he sees Eddie. They’re in California together. They’re eighteen, and they moved in together, like they were supposed to. They have a dorm room to themselves, and they crowd onto the lower bunk together, like they had crowded into the hammock in the clubhouse. Richie shoves his cold feet against Eddies bare calf and he shrieks and hits him with a pillow. They tussle, and Eddie pins him down, and Richie rolls him over, and Eddie rolls them right off the shitty little bed. It’s a familiar dance, one they have practiced a thousand times before, and when they end up a breathless heap on the floor, the air knocked out of them by the fall, it doesn’t take long for Richie to lean in and kiss what little breath remains right out of Eddie’s lungs. 

The vision continues like that, he sees a whole life that could have been stretched out in front of him. Twenty two years of togetherness, a civil union in the early 2010’s, a marriage in 2015, a call in 2016.

When they both show up this time, Eddie isn’t the only one wearing a golden band.

Suddenly, Richie is on his back on the ground in the sewers, and he aches. He wants to go back in the fucking deadlights, he wants to live the story to completion, his little slice of bliss with Eddie. 

Then Eddie’s face pops up, and he’s on top of Richie crowing about how he “got him, I think I got him!” It’s instinct, the same dance they’ve done a thousand times, from muscle memory, Richie reaches up and flips them over, so he’s on top of Eddie. Eddie looks up at him, startled, and Richie thinks he might remember this time, this might be the thing that reminds Eddie of what they were, what Richie never stopped wanting.

Then the ground explodes inches away from them, right where Eddie used to be, and Richie startles, and they’re running.  
\-----

When they crush the clown’s heart in their hands, all six of them, he looks to Eddie again. He sees that exact same lack of recognition, and he wants to scream.

\-----

They watch in awe as the house on Neibolt Street collapses in front of them. 

Richie wants to do the same in relief and exhaustion, but then he remembers. “Shit. I should probably call the police and defend my axe murdering.”

Bev winces. “Right. I forgot about that” at the same time as Mike corrects “tomahawk murdering.”

“Double shit.” Richie says, ignoring them both. “We should probably come up with a reason why we just left his body there.”

They all stand in their circle, feeling at sea for a moment.

“We were pursuing an accomplice.” Bill provides, after a moment of contemplation. “Describe Patrick but aged up. Describe everything pretty much the same, except Patrick attacked Richie with a switchblade after. Richie fought him off bare handed, and he ran away, I ran after him, then you all followed me. We chased him here,” Bill gestures at the collapsed house “and tried to physically restrain him, but the house started collapsing and we had to run to safety. We don’t know where he is.” Then he pauses for a bit. “Lets also pretend we don’t know that it was Henry. If they tell us we can say we used to know him, but didn’t recognize him since we hadn’t seen him in so long.”

Richie whistles appreciatively. “All that storytelling is coming in handy, Mr. Author.”

“Whatever.” Bill says, rolling his eyes. “Just tell me you all got that so we can get Eddie to the hospital and call the cops.”

“Right,” Richie says, “you got stabbed in the face.”

“Yes, I got stabbed in the fucking face, Richard. I would like medical attention now. Something more than a bandage I threw on in a panic while worrying about a murderer on the loose, preferably.” Eddie responds, throwing his hands up in the air. He looks tired, even more so than the rest of them.

The drive to the hospital is conducted with a jittery sort of tiredness. They go over the story, fill in gaps together, and on the way there, Bill calls the police and gives them a brief synopsis of what had happened, promising that they can answer their questions after they get Eddie to the hospital. 

Eddie is rushed to the ER to get stitches, and what is likely half of Derry’s police force meet them and separate them for questioning. They take Richie down to the station, and Bill insists on coming too, but everyone else gets to have their interviews conducted in different parts of the hospital.

Richie is slumping in his seat, exhausted, as he explains to the police officer that Mike was grappled by “a fucking mullet wearing asshole with a knife who had just stabbed my friend” and that the only thing he could think of to do was grab the tomahawk. 

“He had a knife and I know for a fact he wasn’t afraid to use it. Plus, he got stabbed earlier and acted like it was a bug bite! There’s no way my noodle arms could hold him off.” He flaps his arms demonstratively and the police officer coughs to hide a laugh.

“And the other man?” The officer asks.

“I have no clue how I managed to fight him off.” Richie says. “Though he also had noodle arms. Fighting him was like being a part of the most terrifying bowl of spaghetti on earth, and also trying not to get stabbed.”

The officer coughs again, more violently this time. Richie isn’t even trying, really, he’s just on autopilot and so, so tired that nothing seems to get to him right now. 

“Anyways, I managed to wrestle him off me and scramble away, then Bill lunged for him and he ran, and Bill ran after him, and I ran after Bill so that he wouldn’t get his dumbass killed, and then we were all running. Chased him into this shitty abandoned house and Bill tried to punch him and hit a support beam instead and the house started creaking ominously, so we got the hell out of dodge. Don’t know what happened to the dude, but last I saw he was running the opposite direction into the house.”

The officer nods understandingly, and after a few more questions, he’s left alone in the interrogation room for a while.

The officer comes back with a cup of water for him. 

“The guy that attacked you was Henry Bowers.” He says. “We aren’t sure who the accomplice was, but it seems he helped him escape from a mental institution in town where he killed two different guards. Between the camera footage showing him committing those murders and the eyewitness reports confirming that what you did was self defense, we’re not going to press charges, and he doesn’t have any family to do it either. You’re free to go, Mr. Tozier.”

Richie sags in relief and exhaustion. He knocks back the cup of water, then tosses it in the garbage. 

“Thanks.” He says, gathering his coat.

Bill meets him in the lobby, and the police officer gives them both a ride back to the hospital. 

All the rest of the losers are in the hospital lobby waiting for them, and Eddie nods at their approach, looking probably the most exhausted out of all of them.

“They offered him the good shit, but he turned it down in favor of tylenol.” Bev greets. They had clearly been in the middle of a conversation about Eddie’s medication choices.

“I assume we’re all going to get wasted when we go back to the hotel, and I’d prefer not to mix alcohol and opiates.” Eddie replies. 

“Oh fuck yeah.” Richie says. “Getting shitfaced is a plan I can get behind.” 

“Well, come on then,” Bev says, “let's get going.”  
\-----  
They’re all exhausted from everything that happened, but Richie at least knows that he isn’t quite ready for sleep. He thinks they all know it isn’t going to be a pleasant one tonight.

They’re on their second whiskeys. First round had been shots, but now they sit and sip. 

“Do you guys want to play a game?” Richie asks, from his perch on the couch. Eddie is sitting next to him, but not leaning into his side like he would have when they were kids. “Like, truth or dare or something?”

“We’re forty years old.” Eddie replies, biting edges sanded down by the fatigue in his voice. 

Richie waves a hand dismissively. “Fine, truth or drink then.”

Bev snorts at the addendum. “It _has_ been twenty years.” She concedes. “It would be nice to get to know each other again.” She’s looking at Ben as she says it, out of the corner of her eye like she thinks she’s being sly. Bill, in turn, is looking at her. Soft, and maybe a little sad, but more bittersweet than anything.

Richie is glad he’s not a direct part of that. He’s got enough going on as it is, he thinks, glancing Eddie’s way.

Eddie meets his eye and sighs. “As if we need an excuse to drink, but whatever, why not.”

Richie grins and lays the empty whiskey bottle on its side on the little coffee table situated between all their sofas and chairs. 

Eddie squints at him disapprovingly. “If that falls off the table and shatters…”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud.” Richie replies, then spins. The bottle lands on Bev. “Alright Beverly, either tell the truth or take a drink.” He racks his mind for something to ask, then grins as something strikes him. “Which flavor of ice cream would you most like to lick off Ben’s abs?”

Mike rolls his eyes, Ben lights up a cherry red, and Eddie smacks him on the shoulder with a “beep beep, Richard.”

“What? We all saw them, don’t pretend ice cream licking doesn’t need to be done!”

Bev just barks a laugh and says “caramel” before spinning the bottle.

The game carries on much the same for a few rounds, and they mostly just drink whenever they want, without many questions being asked that require an official drink to be taken. He’s working on a nice buzz when it’s his turn to spin the bottle and it lands on Eddie. He hmms in contemplation, turning to look at him. His eyes roam his face, sleepy and loose after his third glass of whiskey, then fall to Eddie’s ring. 

“What’s your wife like?” He asks, somehow unable to help himself.

Eddie’s face blanks in surprise for a moment, then seems to fall through a range of emotions, settling on something a little sad, maybe.

“You can’t make fun of me for this.” He says, eyes boring into Richie’s. “But… she’s a lot like my mother.”

Richie whistles lowly. “And I thought I had cornered the market on fucking your mom.”

“What did I just say?” Eddie asks, eyes bright and angry.

Richie holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I had to get at least one in.”

Eddie sighs. “Whatever. I just. Fuck, I don’t know what I was thinking. She’s a nice woman, and I loved… love? I don’t know. She just understood all my medication and my anxiety, but she’s so anxious all the time too, and now the more I think about it the more I’ve been realizing that I spent the last decade with her just feeling, I don’t know… trapped. Shit.” He concludes, glancing suspiciously at his glass of whiskey. 

The room is silent for a long moment before Bev speaks up. “I’m divorcing my husband as soon as I can.” She looks down at her glass of whiskey too, voice growing lower. “He was a lot like my dad. Used to yell at me, or beat me for the stupidest shit, and I thought I deserved it. He had this belt…” She trails off, seeming to snap out of her memory reverie and back to the present. “Anyways, I beat the shit out of him right back before I left. I guess all it took was remembering something that scared me more than him to learn that I was stronger.”

Ben pulls her into a hug, from the side, and she smiles up at him softly.

“I think I should probably divorce my wife too.” Eddie says, and Richie’s heart leaps into his throat at that because, _fuck_ , maybe he has a chance after all? Then he feels like a bit of a creep for his first thought being that he can swoop in after Eddie divorces his wife, but he’s just so stupidly in love that he can’t really help it.

Silence descends on the room again.

“I should have just asked if you had any tattoos.” RIchie says, trying to break the atmosphere up into something lighter.

It works, he gets a decent amount of chuckles for his efforts.

Then Eddie replies “I do.”

“What?” Richie says, feeling a little dumb as his brain short circuits a bit because _Eddie has a tattoo? Or tattoos?_.

“I have a tattoo.” Eddie says, matter of fact.

“Can we see it?” Bev asks, and Richie both loves and hates her all at once.

“It’s in an area you have to take me to dinner to see.” Eddie says, grinning.

Richie swears error messages are flashing in his eyes, but luckily Ben picks up the slack for him.

“I hate to point this out,” he says, “but we all took you to dinner like two days ago.”

“Well shit,” Eddie responds, “I guess I have to show you then.” Then starts taking his shirt off.

Richie nearly swoons, but manages to hold himself together, if only barely. 

The first thing he notices when Eddie’s shirt comes off is that he has definitely been keeping in shape. Like, a very fun shape. Technically Richie is in a shape as well, but Eddie’s shape involves visible abdominals and Richie’s involves endearing pudge. Which is fine, because he hears dad bods are in vogue, but also,  
how is it that Eddie has managed to not only maintain the level of lithe muscle that he had as an eighteen year old, but also to add to it? 

Richie’s hand twitches at his side as he restrains the urge to reach out and touch. The years where he was allowed to touch have long since passed, but muscle memory is urging him to push Eddie down and instigate a tussle just for a thinly veiled excuse to put his hands all over Eddie’s body. 

Then his eyes come to rest upon Eddie’s sternum, and he’s hit with a memory. Plucking blue flowers up from the bottom of their stalks, and handing them to Eddie, Eddie, who was looking at him like he meant the world, like maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way Richie did. The common bugle. They burst up from the bottom of Eddie’s sternum to the top of his pec, looking almost like they had that day, but the blues and greens slightly faded with age.

“It’s funny, because I had forgotten getting it, I always assumed I got drunk and did it, and didn’t think too much about it. Hell, I didn’t even know what kind of flower they were, but now I…” Eddie looks down at the tattoo. “I got it the day before I left.” He murmurs, voice soft with remembrance. “It’s called the common bugle… It was supposed to be a surprise…”

His gaze snaps up to meet Richie’s, and Richie doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but it feels… god, he doesn’t even know. It feels obvious. He holds his stare until it feels like too much, and he has to look away. That seems to snap Eddie out of it.

“You… we... how could I have forgotten?” He asks.

“Kind of an alien space clown running around stealing our memories, in case you didn’t notice.” Richie replies, smiling weakly at Eddie.

“You remember too?” Eddie asks. “How long ago?”

“The flowers?” Richie asks. “When I saw the tattoo. California, as soon as I saw you.”

“California?” Eddie asks, confused for half a second before clarity hits and his hand jolts out to cover Richie’s. “Shit, California. I was supposed to meet you, God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Richie says, even though it really, really isn’t. “We figured your mom would try to convince you to stay in Georgia. I just didn’t count on the space clown stealing your memories and making her job ten thousand times easier.”

“I…” Eddie places his hand on Richie’s face, and the gesture is so intimate it burns. “Fuck.” then he leans in and kisses Richie. 

It's like something slotting into place. Like coming home after twenty fucking years. Only Derry was never his home, it was Eddie. It was always Eddie.

He hears a gasp, and suddenly remembers that they are very much not alone. They break apart, and all the losers are staring at them with varying degrees of surprise on their faces.

“Uh…” Richie says, eloquently, “surprise?”

“Alright.” Mike says, standing up and stretching. “I think it’s time I hit the hay. You two obviously need some time to yourselves to work some stuff out.”

“Yeah,” Bev says, standing up, “I second that. Congrats, you two.”

The rest of the losers all trickle out, with murmured good night wishes, leaving Richie and Eddie alone in the sitting room.

“I can’t believe you got them tattooed on you a week after I showed them to you.” Richie says, grin wide and bright. “So impulsive, Eds.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, reaching out for his hands again, and clasping them in his, “but I figured you’d like that.”

“You figured correctly.” Richie says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shit.” Eddie says, face going pinched. “I’m really glad I’m divorcing my wife, but the fact that I even have one in the first place means that I’m going to have to wait until after I break the news to her before I can take you to pound town.”

Richie elects to ignore the use of the phrase pound town and the potential it has for ribbing, instead choosing to scramble for his phone and hold it out to Eddie in an offer. Eddie snorts derisively at that.

“I’m not breaking up with my wife over the _phone_ dumbass, I need to at least give her the courtesy of seeing her in person before breaking off a decade long marriage.”

Richie unlocks his phone and starts googling flights to New York. Eddie grabs his wrist in one hand, stilling his typing, and cups his chin with the other. Then he leans in for another kiss.

“Will you come to New York with me?”

“Obviously,” Richie responds, “no more unsupervised road trips for you, I’m getting you to California with me this time if it’s the last thing I fucking do.”

Eddie’s answering smile is brilliant, and neither of them could have stopped that third kiss if they wanted to. They have a lifetime to come now.

**Author's Note:**

> Haha remember how this started out about dicks? 
> 
> Also, Richie is canonically a straight A student according to the books, which! We stan a smart king.
> 
> Also also, I have no clue if the common bugle was in Maine in the early 1990’s because it’s an ~invasive species~, but it sure is now so… shrugs.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at [ regina-writes ](https://regina-writes.tumblr.com)


End file.
